


only a famine

by intimatopia



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Mildly Dubious Consent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-01
Updated: 2020-12-03
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:27:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27817513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/intimatopia/pseuds/intimatopia
Summary: There is something deeply wrong with Goro Akechi. Akira is determined to find out what it is. Even if he has to fuck Akechi to find out.Especiallyif he has to fuck Akechi to find out.
Relationships: Akechi Goro/Kurusu Akira
Comments: 40
Kudos: 243





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> [drags my hands down my face]

“Crow? Are you alright?” Haru sounded a little odd.

Joker was too busy finishing off the last of the shadows to pay much attention, even as Akechi replied. “Oh—what? Of course...I just feel a little dizzy, that's all.”

“Did the healing potion not work?” Ann asked, at the same time that Makoto said, “We should head to a safe room.”

The shadow collapsed in a pile of ectoplasm. He high-fived Ryuji, and then turned to look.

Akechi was standing, which was a good sign.

“No,” Joker said. “It worked.”

Akechi nodded without seeming to realize it. “I'll be alright—I won't slow you down.”

Joker took a deep breath, and blinked. “We should definitely head to a safe room.” He dived forward, looping an arm around Akechi’s shoulders and taking his weight. Akechi blinked up at him, angry and confused, but there was no mistaking it.

God, Joker hoped he was wrong.

But no—Akechi wouldn’t have allowed Joker to support him unless he was severely compromised. _Won’t slow you down, my ass,_ Joker thought, and then concentrated on breathing through his mouth.

Up ahead, Makoto and Haru were trying to figure out what had gone wrong. Joker suspected they knew already. Yusuke and Ryuji, at their backs, didn’t. Futaba and Ann had taken one look at Akechi’s state and declined to comment.

Akechi whimpered softly, nearly inaudibly, when Joker helped him over the threshold. Joker froze. He’d been doing a good job of not thinking with his dick, _so far._

But restraint was difficult when Akechi refused to let go of him, until Joker gave up and pulled Akechi into his lap. Akechi was so quiet it was almost unnerving, wrapped them both in the hazy scent of salt and fresh flowers until Joker couldn’t remember all the perfectly good reasons why this was a bad idea.

A _horrible_ idea. He wrapped his arms around Akechi and Akechi sighed, letting his head drop against Joker’s shoulder.

Joker swallowed and looked up. His teammates were staring at him—they looked away now, pained and guilty. Of course they didn’t want to see Akechi like this, and of course they didn’t want to see their leader like this.

Trapped in a position where he could betray his team or abandon a teammate. Trapped in a position he no doubt didn’t want to be in.

Not trapped at all. He stared at them until he was sure they wouldn’t look again.

“We should reconvene in a couple days,” Joker said. If his voice was rough, hopefully it was just a consequence of having a heavy boy on top of him. “I’ll take him home.”

“That might be best,” Makoto said, before anyone else could react. She met Joker’s eyes, unforgiving. The only other alpha on the team, and the only alpha without split responsibilities. Joker nodded back at her. 

There were arguments; Makoto settled them. 

Joker focused on holding Akechi, who had melted entirely against him at this point. He was trembling slightly, and his hair where Joker’s cheek was pressed against it smelled faintly of roses. 

“You realize why we can’t do this,” Joker said softly, when the last of them was gone.

Akechi raised his head, terribly slow. His eyes were blown out. “Yes,” he whispered, flush darkening. “I know.”

It hurt, distantly, to watch him swallow and shake himself off, climbing off Joker of his own accord. It hurt to maintain the careful gap between them, an equal effort and no small one. Joker pulled out a knife and gripped it as they walked. His palms itched to pull Akechi near again.

A really, _really_ fucking bad idea.

“I’m in no danger, I assure you,” Akechi said. Prim and proper in detective clothes once more, the only sign that he was still in heat was the smell of honeysuckle that clung to him. It was richer in the real world.

Akira shook his head. “I’m walking you home,” he said firmly, and it was a dirty trick for no greater pleasure than watching Akechi shudder and fold. 

“There’s really no need,” Akechi tried. “I can fight well enough due to my training.”

The _as a detective_ was implied, though Akira mentally translated to _as an assassin._ He steered Akechi gently, falling into step next to him the way he was used to doing for most of his team. The rest of them simply let him, used to the protectiveness.

Akechi looked distinctly uncomfortable with it now that he was more self-aware. Akira wondered what had caused the lapse in Sae’s palace.

He wondered if he wanted to know.

Getting Akechi home was excruciating. Akira glared at anyone who came too close, but Akechi simply smiled like nothing was wrong.

They were left alone. That wasn’t the excruciating part.

Akechi smelled like flowers; Akira caught whiffs of it every few seconds. He couldn’t seem to think past the part of him that wanted to just—leave Akechi to this, though it went against everything he knew.

And he couldn’t seem to get past the way Akechi had leaned into him in those moments in the safe room, like he trusted Akira with his entire being.

If Akechi was capable of trust, Akira was the last person he’d direct it at.

Akechi lived in a high-rise near the center of the city. The lobby was largely empty, but the man on guard duty barely looked up when Akechi walked past him. Maybe this kind of thing happened all the time in places where rich people lived. Akira doubted it.

They took the elevator up together. Akechi looked at the backs of his hands, clinically disinterested. “Why do you think the color changes in the cognitive verse?” he asked.

“You have less to hide there,” Akira replied, before he could stop himself.

The elevator stopped. Akechi dug his keys out of his pocket, uncharacteristically clumsy. “I guess that’s fair,” he said. “Will you stop staring?”

Akira tore his eyes away. He hadn’t once in the past—however long it had been. He hadn’t even noticed himself looking, and now he couldn’t remember what he’d been looking at. He noticed, abstractly, that his dick was hard. That would explain why he was being so stupid right now.

“Thank you for walking me home,” Akechi said unnecessarily. “I’ll be fine, though.”

Akira’s gaze snapped back to him, and he made a decision. He’d made this decision a while ago. “I’m not leaving.”

“ _You_ said this was a bad idea,” Akechi said sharply. “And it is.”

“I know what I said. I’m not leaving you alone.”

Akechi rolled his eyes. “I can survive without your dick,” he huffed. “And I’d rather you didn’t see this, if it’s all the same to you.”

“It’s not,” Akira said loudly. “It’s not all the same to me.”

“ _Fuck you_ ,” Akechi hissed under his breath. Akira’s stomach loosened; the naked display of emotion was oddly relieving. Some person underneath there after all. “We’re not talking about this standing here.”

Inside might not have been much better. Akechi had left the windows open before he left, and it was stupidly draughty. Akira considered closing them, and then thought better of it.

“I won’t do anything you don’t want me to,” he told Akechi. He was shamefully aware of how he sounded, harsh and desperate and nearly rude in how clearly he wanted this. But it was taking more out of him to _want_ than it should have, and Akira had never met a red flag he didn’t chase just to see what it was planted on. “Just let me stay.”

“Fuck you,” Akechi fumed, stalking across the room to close the windows.

He left behind the dizzying scent of lavender.

Akira followed him inside, yanked him around to kiss him. He’d wanted this in the inarticulate way he wanted everything else about Akechi, impressions blurring by without leaving a mark. Akira clung grimly to every piece of it, though; the fine texture of Akechi’s hair between his fingers, the sweet sweet scent of his heat, not yet bloomed, the way Akechi’s breath hitched when Akira bit into his mouth, like he was scared too.

“Tell me you don’t want this,” Akira panted, pulling away. “Tell me.”

“Do you want me to beg?” Akechi snarled.

_Would you?_ Akira nearly asked, but he thought Akechi would throw him out if he did. Or say yes—Akira didn’t know which option was worse.

He tucked a strand of Akechi’s hair behind his ear, carefully noting his slow blink, heavy and tired, the part of his red mouth, the way he swayed into Akira for a second before catching himself and straightening, leading them both to his bedroom.

His discomfort was a palpable tension in the air, like a physical wall between them. Akira hated it and hated more that he didn’t know what to do about it, even as he pushed Akechi down into the bed.

Akira watched Akechi’s face as he undid the frankly painful number of buttons keeping him from Akechi’s skin. Akechi’s gaze skittered over Akira’s body, resting on his lips and meeting his gaze for brief seconds before fleeing to where Akira was still working on the jacket, wishing he could just tear it off.

He finally managed to get Akechi’s clothes off, tracing lightly over scarred skin. Wondered if Akechi had ever intended to let him see this, and how he planned to explain it. 

“Do you even want this?” Akechi bit out. “Or are you just too noble to leave?”

“I want it,” Akira said, incensed by the accusation.

Akechi sneered. “You don’t _look_ like you want it.”

Akira rewarded that with another kiss, deeper than the first. Akechi whined into it, the sound breaking off when Akira placed a hand on Akechi’s lightly muscled stomach, pressing him gently against the bed. “I want you,” he said softly, an admission too much to handle or too late to matter. 

There was a moment where Akechi didn’t respond at all, frozen in shock or hatred. And then he relaxed, and Akira thought he’d rather have had the hatred. 

For all the good that hatred would’ve done him, no matter that it never kept him from wanting Akechi so badly it had brought him here. Vulnerability wasn’t the worst thing, but it was unnerving to hold Akechi when he was fragile and know how easy it would be to destroy him.

To know how much some part of Akira _did_ want to destroy him.

He pressed the backs of his fingers against Akechi’s cheek. “Thank you,” he said sincerely, without knowing what he was thanking Akechi for.

Akechi leaned into the touch, frighteningly needy. “Just get on with it,” he muttered.

So Akira got on with it, shrugging off his own jacket and shirt. He was hard, which had been an issue for a while and would probably remain so. All of this would’ve been so much easier to understand if Akira could’ve justified it with his dick. Unfortunately, it was the curiosity that was killing him right now.

Mostly. He was _really_ hard.

Akechi was wide-eyed. Akira wondered if he was nervous. He appeared to have little in the way of omega instincts, though Akira had long figured that those got played up in porn. He bent over Akechi, swallowing back a groan when Akechi put his hands against Akira’s chest.

His hands were cool. Akira couldn’t seem to think. He grabbed Akechi’s wrist, tightening his grip when Akechi tried to pull back. “How long until your heat hits?”

“It’s never happened before,” Akechi said, rolling his eyes. “Shameful, I know.”

He tried to take his hand back again. Akira hung on grimly. “Not shameful,” he muttered, but he didn’t know what to say after that. Some platitude about late bloomers that would only piss Akechi off. What Akira wanted to say was _I’m glad your first time is with me._

“We’ll take it slow,” Akira promised.

Akechi sighed. “I can take your dick, Kurusu.”

“It won’t break you to let me be nice to you,” Akira snapped, before he could stop himself.

The wrong thing to say. Akechi’s expression shuttered, and his fingers curled against Akira’s chest, nails digging in. “Do whatever you like,” he said indifferently.

But Akira had never denied a challenge from Akechi, so he glared at him before leaning down to press a kiss to his chest, gentle and deliberate. Instinct or not, everyone responded to a careful touch. Akechi, predictably long starved of them, arched into it despite no doubt wishing he hadn’t.

Akechi’s grip had migrated to Akira’s shoulder, digging in bruisingly hard. He made nearly no sound as Akira kissed his way down, the only indication that he was affected were the hitches in his breath and the way his body trembled under Akira’s touch.

His cock was hard. Akira wrapped a hand around it, smirking up at Akechi when he hissed at that. His own cock felt criminally neglected, but he could wait a little longer.

Making Akechi come was easy.

The difficult part should’ve been right around the corner—Akira wasn’t fool enough to think Akechi was giving in so easily—but Akechi appeared to have decided to save up his fight for later. Akira would take his wins where he could.

Preferably quickly. His cock was becoming _really_ hard (ha) to ignore. “Do you have lube?” Akira gritted out.

“Did you forget how biology works?” Akechi snapped. “You won’t need it.”

Akira exhaled. “Right,” he mumbled. “I knew that.”

Akechi’s hole was wet with slick, heat easily enveloping Akira’s fingers. Akechi was biting his lip, struggling with something Akira couldn’t identify. He focused on fucking Akechi though, opening him up for Akira’s cock.

“Do you want something?” Akira asked him.

“What do you think?” Akechi snarled. “I want this to be over. Just like you.”

Akira paused. “Why do you think _I_ don’t want this?” he asked, genuinely baffled. Then he processed the rest of what Akechi had said. “Do _you_ not want this?”

“What I want doesn’t matter,” Akechi said, like he could make that true just by saying it firmly enough. “Don’t tell me this is actually your idea of a successful mission—pity-fucking your annoying colleague after he couldn’t keep it together long enough to delay a heat—”

“Enough,” Akira cut in. He felt obscurely furious. “I know the concept of friendship is foreign to you—” Akechi made a derisive sound “—but there is actually nowhere else I’d rather be.” Akira took a deep breath, trying to steady himself and ending up with a lungful of the smell of jasmine. “I want this to be good for you, and you keep looking like this is the worst and most boring thing. It’s—if there’s anything I can do to make it better, you have to _tell_ me. I can’t read your mind.”

“Not that it would do you much good if you _could_ ,” Akechi said, so instinctively self-defeating that it sent a rush of affection through Akira. “And it’s perfectly adequate, for your information. I’d really like to be fucked sometime this _decade,_ though.”

Akira would also have liked to fuck sometime this decade. He wished he could trust the truth of Akechi’s words. He was too much of a liar for that to be an option.

He pressed his fingers into Akechi’s hole again. “Finally,” Akechi sighed. “You can go harder.”

“Tell me you want me to,” Akira murmured, teasing Akechi’s rim with his thumb.

Akechi glared at him. “I won’t beg,” he said coldly.

“I didn’t tell you to beg,” Akira replied. He was using up his reserves of patience for the next six months. Akechi wouldn’t even appreciate it. “I want you to use your words.”

“That’s rich, coming from you— _ah!_ ”

Akira had pulled his fingers out suddenly, leaving Akechi cold and empty. “This would go a lot easier if you tried to help,” Akira observed.

“I will _ride_ you,” Akechi said, aggrieved. “Just give me what I want already.”

“That wasn’t so difficult,” Akira lied, and leaned down to kiss Akechi before he could get something cutting in response to that.

Akechi did, at least, have condoms. Akira bit the inside of his mouth as he rolled it on, and then gave up and let himself moan as he slid into Akechi. He was almost painfully hot and tight, and Akira didn’t go slow enough, but Akechi didn’t seem to care, jerking his hips back to the best of his ability. Akira had promised to give him what he wanted. He made good on that promise, gripping Akechi’s thighs for leverage and fucking him harder, pressing his face against Akechi’s shoulder and nipping gently at the tender skin at base of his neck until Akira couldn’t smell anything except the cloying, sweet scent of a heat nearing satisfaction.

“Still think I don’t want you?” Akira asked roughly.

“Still think you should fuck me _harder_ ,” Akechi sniped, but his voice had the edge of a keen in it.

Akira laughed shortly and put his back into it. Much easier now that he had Akechi pinned down and pliant again, less distant and fragile and more needy and demanding.

One of the advantages to fucking an omega in heat was that Akira didn’t get softer after he’d come, even if he had to pause and scramble for Akechi’s hand to hold onto as the orgasm rolled through him, overwhelming. Whatever garbled nonsense Akira gasped out in those seconds caught Akechi off-guard enough that he didn’t even complain about the pause, and even allowed Akira to kiss the back of his hand before he let go.

If his dick felt oversensitive now—well, Akira wasn’t complaining about any part of this. Akechi came a few seconds later with a shaky, adorable little cry, and Akira kept fucking him until he came again.

Akechi was too wiped out to continue after that, like his body had remembered that it had been working for hours even before all of this had happened. 

With Akira’s knot tying them together, it fell to him to soothe Akechi’s unease. But Akechi turned away, eyes distant and haunted. That look frightened Akira, and when some interminable amount of time his knot went down he eased himself away from Akechi and out of bed to dispose off the condom. His heart was beating oddly fast and he felt cold, like he’d just fought a particularly harrowing shadow.

Akechi was sitting up when he turned back, holding a blanket. He looked painfully vulnerable again. “I suppose you’ll be leaving now,” he said neutrally.

“What?” Akira said blankly. “I’ll stay the night, to make sure it’s really broken.”

“I’m not a child with a fever,” Akechi frowned. “It’s your time you’re wasting, regardless.”

They were talking past each other again, Akira thought, heart sinking. “Damn right it is,” he said out loud, and ignored the way Akechi’s brows knitted further in. “I’m going to get you some water,” he added. “Unless you have juice.”

“In the fridge,” Akechi said distantly.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> set in some post-canon time, assume whatever you have to for personas to no longer exist when this takes place

“You know what’s weird?” Akira asked idly. He was experimenting with another blend of coffee. 

Akechi was solving a crossword. “Seven across,” he answered. “I can’t tell whether it’s supposed to be _traps_ or _snare._ ”

“Work on another row,” Akira advised. “That’s not weird. I was thinking you don’t smell like flowers anymore.”

“That’s not weird either,” Akechi said. He sounded very bored. “I’ve never smelled like flowers.”

“Wrong,” Akira said, pointing at him with a spoon. “You _always_ smelled like flowers back then.”

“You are an imbecile,” Akechi informed him, finally deigning to look up.

Akira ignored this. “It was always different flowers,” he mused. “I couldn’t figure out which one. The same ones came up once or twice, but always so far apart it made no sense. It used to drive me nuts.”

“Not only an imbecile, but also a stalker,” Akechi declared. “Can I have some of that?”

“No,” Akira said. “It’s not yet done.” He went into the back, shuffling through the shelves until he found cinnamon bark. 

Akechi was no longer doing the crossword when he returned. He’d propped his face against his hand and was looking at Akira like he wanted to say something but hadn’t decided he could yet. He looked oddly soft in the late afternoon light, brassy hair left to curl softly.

At some point Akira had decided he liked this version of Akechi, an abrasive bastard that he was most of the time. He liked that Akechi no longer looked so much like a trapped animal. 

“What?” Akira asked gently.

“I want a refill,” Akechi said at once, nudging his mug forward.

Akira gave him a refill. Akechi returned to his crossword, only looking up once in a while to complain at Akira about the clues.

It took another mug of coffee—this last one laced with chocolate, if Akechi was to get any sleep tonight—before Akechi finished the crossword and put it away, looking at Akira with that piercing stare again. Akira had come to like this, too. Maybe too much.

“Out with it,” Akira said.

“It’s been a—while,” Akechi said, like he’d needed no prompting.

Akira didn’t ask what he was talking about. He didn’t have to.

The first/last/only time they’d had sex had been...strange. _Awful_ implied it hadn’t been good. _Wonderful_ implied it hadn’t given Akira nightmares. Mostly it lay behind a syrupy curtain like something from a dream, a dream where Akechi allowed Akira to give him a tenth of what he wanted and pretended it was enough, and Akira saw fragile corners under harsh light and pretended he hadn’t seen it.

They’d done a good job of pretending, all else considered. Until Akira went and ruined it by bringing up the flowers.

Then he considered what Akechi wasn’t saying. “Another heat,” he guessed.

“Not for a week yet,” Akechi said, assiduously refolding the newspaper he’d been working on. “I’m still looking for a partner.”

Akira stared at the edge of the counter, where the light striking it turned nearly gold. “And you don’t want it to be me,” he heard himself say. He didn’t know why he was disappointed. He’d known it was...not good or bad, but too awkward for either of them to want a repeat.

Nevermind that Akira, apparently, very much _did_ want a repeat.

“ _You_ don’t want to be with me,” Akechi corrected. “Let’s not act like you were so thrilled to be there the first time.”

Akira raised his gaze to stare at Akechi. “I didn’t say that,” he croaked.

“You meant it,” Akechi said, ridiculously sure of himself for someone so _wrong._ “You didn’t want to be there. You’re just,” he waved a hand disdainfully. “Overly noble, and very good at convincing yourself that you’re enjoying whatever self-sacrificial task you’ve set your mind to.”

Akira sputtered helplessly. This was the problem with Akechi’s bullshit. Always too much of it to pick an effective tack to argue on. It didn’t help that he was only half-wrong at best.

“I wanted to be there,” Akira got out finally. “You would know if I didn’t. I would _tell_ you.”

Akechi raised an eyebrow. “Would you now?”

“Yeah,” Akira said savagely. “I would tell _you._ ”

That shut Akechi up briefly, which was a relief. Akira needed time to think. He relocated to the other side of the counter, sitting down next to Akechi. His shoulders were stiff, and when he turned around to face Akira he was once more wearing that brittle smile that signified nothing good.

“Did you want me to be there?” Akira asked.

“That,” Akechi started. “Oh. Hmm. Maybe.”

Akira sighed. “ _Maybe_?” 

“Depends on your answer,” Akechi said, blinking owlishly. He looked distinctly uncomfortable with being cornered like this, but he hadn’t run yet. Nor would he, if Akira had to track him down and sit on him to make him have this conversation.

“I wanted to be there,” Akira said evenly. “Did you?”

Akechi went pink. “Maybe,” he mumbled, which meant _yes._

“I also wanted you to be there,” Akira finished, and then sat back, satisfied with himself. “So.”

“I have somewhere to be,” Akechi said suddenly. “Thank you for the coffee.”

Akira let him go. The problem with fast runners like them was that they got used to being able to outrun their issues. As rivals, they were sworn to meet each other at the finish line.

There would be another conversation. Hopefully not for a while.

In the meantime there were nightmares.

Akira hadn’t had them before— _before._ Not about the palaces and not about the Metaverse. He had them every night now, and lay awake trying to stave them off a little longer. Eventually, always, exhaustion won out. He fell asleep, and the dreams were waiting for him.

He lay drifting in the early morning light, crows screeching outside his window as he wondered what kind of nightmares Akechi had.

Maybe he had nightmares about Akira touching him.

It was an uncomfortable thought. He dragged himself out of bed and went downstairs to open the shop.

Akechi took a week to return. He returned smelling like vanilla and mint.

At some point Akira had stopped thinking _if he still talks to me it couldn’t have been that bad, right?_ and started thinking _how bad would it have to be before he stopped talking to me?_

What an unpleasant, unnerving thought. He _knew_ Akechi was lonely.

Akechi, holding himself at a safe distance every time they were together. Akechi, leaning into him in that safe room like Akira was _his_ —

An unbearable fantasy.

“I thought about what you said,” Akechi announced.

Just like that, Akira wasn’t worried anymore. It was hard to be worried about Akechi. He always seemed like he was going to be fine, even when he was going to be the furthest from fine.

Akira brought the worry back by force. “Any conclusions?” he asked.

“Further research required,” Akechi said loftily.

They argued about whether Akira’s bedroom (closer) or Akechi’s flat (safer) was better. In the end Akira’s worry won out—they took the train to Akechi’s flat, and Akira kept his hands to himself by sheer force of will.

Worrying. Not worrying. Trying to think about anything but the way that pretty smile sat on Akechi’s face when they were out together and the way Akira hated it.

But in Akechi’s flat, things were easier. That smell of mint and vanilla hadn’t left Akira’s attention the entire time. It hadn’t changed, except to intensify into something thicker and needier when Akira pressed Akechi against the wall, nosing at the tender skin at the base of his throat. Akechi shuddered against him, oddly pliant.

Not that odd. He fought so hard, against everyone and all the time. It must’ve taken everything he had to put the fight down, even for a while.

“You’re so good,” Akira breathed.

Akechi went tense. “You don’t have to lie to me,” he said, impressively cold for someone still having his neck kissed.

“I’m not lying.”

“You _are._ I’m not good. Not a good person, and not good in bed—”

“We’re not in—”

“—or out of it.”

Akira reached up, threaded his fingers through Akechi’s hair, and yanked gently. “If you argue with me every time I’m nice to you, I’ll—”

“You’ll what,” Akechi sneered. “Leave? Feel free.”

“I won’t leave,” Akira said patiently. He didn’t feel patient. He felt sad and furious.

“That’s not a threat,” Akechi snapped. “Up your game.”

Had he brought this on himself by thinking about how compliant Akechi was being? Akira slid his hand down to the back of Akechi’s neck and gripped firmly. Akechi was still tense, but he shuddered, dropping his head slightly. “It’s not a threat,” Akira agreed. “Because I’m not trying to scare you into obeying me. I want to be nice to you. You can tell me whether you want that, _with your words,_ or you can tell me what else you’d rather have.”

Akechi’s cheeks were a desperate shade of pink.

“You _are_ good,” Akira said aimlessly into the relative quiet. A grave was a grave no matter how deep he dug; this couldn’t hurt his cause. “You’re good even when you’d rather not be.”

It seemed, though, like he was running in circles. Making the same mistake over and over. He didn’t know how to convince Akechi to listen to him. He didn’t know why he couldn’t convince himself to listen back.

Vanilla, mint. Flowers.

“What do I smell like to you?” Akira asked.

Akechi exhaled, finally relaxing slightly. “Coffee, right now,” he said, and then leaned forward to press his nose into Akira’s hair. “Soap. I can’t believe you use soap in your _hair._ And—well. You.”

It was like having a lightbulb go off in Akira’s mind. All this time, _all this time,_ this was what he’d been missing.

“You don’t have a scent,” he informed Akechi.

Akechi made a sound.

“I don’t know how I didn’t figure it out before,” Akira added.

“I can’t believe you figured it out at all,” Akechi said quietly.

“You _knew_?”

They relocated to the couch. It seemed expedient, if they were going to argue, and Akira was determined to argue. 

“All this time,” Akira fumed. “You watched me talk about flowers, and you _knew_?”

“It was funny,” Akechi said blandly.

Akira put his head in his hands. “I’ve smelled scent blockers,” he muttered. “This isn’t like—chemical, is it?”

“I’ve never used scent blockers to conceal my dynamic,” Akechi admitted. “I’ve never...had to. No one could tell. Even when I was delirious with heat. Not until you, anyway.” He took a deep breath. “It’s been like this as long as I’ve had Loki. Longer, perhaps, but I don’t remember.”

“A scent is a bonding thing, isn’t it?” Akira said, nauseated. “If you don’t have a scent…”

“No bond,” Akechi finished.

Akira stared at the floor through the gaps in his fingers. “So you were lying when you said it had never happened before,” Akira noted. He didn’t know why he was surprised. It was the kind of lie Akechi would’ve told, back then. The thick silence confirmed it. Akira sighed and moved, sitting up to draw Akechi closer. Akechi allowed it, startled. Almost pleased.

“I thought it was such a gift,” he whispered. “That no one could tell.”

That, Akira could imagine. How fiercely Akechi guarded himself, how he scanned every room for exit points. The way Akira himself did, but also not.

“But you lot,” Akechi went on. “You took care of your omegas. You—I wanted it.”

The barely concealed hunger in the last words was all the more shocking in his otherwise bland tone. Akira thought about the way people’s eyes slid past Akechi when he passed. He thought about Makoto, who hadn’t worried about Akechi at all.

He tightened his grip on Akechi, who pressed himself close and held on like he was afraid he’d be pushed away. “Can I give it to you now?”

“Why do you want to?” Akechi asked plaintively. His cheeks were red when he lifted his face, and his scent was so rich it was making Akira’s head spin. He wanted to crush that scent between his fingers. 

He wanted—“Because it’s you,” Akira said. “I like taking care of you.”

Akechi’s mouth was soft. Akira kissed him hungrily, the way he almost had months ago. All of that faded in comparison to the decadent intensity of this; the weight of Akechi in his lap, the fragility of his truth, freely given at last instead of pried out by bitter circumstance. “You,” he breathed. “I want to give you everything.”

“Akira,” Akechi gasped. “You’re such a sap.”

“You like it,” Akira grinned, and grinned harder when Akechi didn’t deny it.

They didn’t manage to get out of their clothes; Akira didn’t care. Akechi was so willing that it felt like a sin to waste even a second of it.

 _This,_ this was the Akechi who’d leaned into him in the safe room.

But he was also the Akechi who pushed Akira away, and who ran and came back, who was grateful for his loneliness and craved being loved. The Akechi that Akira had chosen, the one he’d keep choosing, in his entirety.

“How long until your heat hits?” Akira asked, smoothing his hands down Akechi’s chest and stomach, imagining the pretty flush that still rested on his cheeks spread further down.

Akechi shrugged, tense under Akechi’s hands like he was waiting for something bad to happen.

“Alright,” Akira said, more to himself than anything.

“Really?” Akechi said doubtfully. 

Akira shook his head a little, laughed. “Let’s go to bed,” he suggested.

Still, the sight of Akechi’s bed made Akira sick with memory for a second. How had Akechi managed to sleep here, in the days and weeks afterwards? But he seemed less unsure than Akira felt.

“Can I ride you?” Akechi asked suddenly.

God, even the thought sent dizzying heat coursing through Akira. He nodded, letting go of some of his worry and taking off his pants and underwear. His cock sprang free, shamefully hard. Akechi’s eyes fell on it with gratifying hunger, though and Akira smirked as he sat against the headboard. “Whatever you want,” he told Akechi.

Akechi smiled, small and real.

It was different to have him straddle Akira with actual intent. His cock strained against his pants, and Akira reached out almost helplessly to press a hand against it. “Fuck,” Akechi mumbled.

“Take it off,” Akira ordered. He jerked himself off with slow, lazy strokes, watching Akechi strip out of his clothes.

He was faster at it than Akira had been, which wasn’t surprising—what was surprising was how nervous he got as he lost every article of clothing. His shoulders were curled defensively in by the time he sat on the bed. “You look great,” Akira said impatiently. “C’mere.”

“Easy for _you_ to say,” Akechi snapped. “You’re— _biased._ ”

“It’s not the worst thing to be,” Akira snorted. “Just, come here, okay?”

Akechi was still arguing as he straddled Akira. “I’m not _insecure,_ ” he muttered. “I’m just being objective. I look nothing like what anyone wants—”

“You look exactly like what I want,” Akira said, very distracted by the fact that Akechi’s blush did indeed reach his stomach. He wrapped his hand around Akechi’s cock and began jerking him off slowly. Akechi’s mouth dropped open, soft and surprised, and Akira raised the fingers of his other hand to slide them in.

Akechi sucked on them right away, red eyes wide and focused. Fuck, Akira would never get over the way Akechi used his attention like a weapon, his mind honed to the task at hand. He reeled Akechi in, forcing him to surrender his weight to Akira.

“Still wanna ride me?” he murmured.

Akechi couldn’t answer—he settled for making a quiet, hungry sound. Akira kissed his forehead and took his fingers back, stroking Akechi’s back gently until he could press against his hole.

“Go on, then,” Akira said softly.

“Don’t tell me what to do,” Akechi rasped, but he lifted himself carefully and sank down on Akira’s fingers with a sigh. It was amazing how easily he took it. Akira kissed his forehead and got a scowl in return, even as Akechi set a tentative rhythm for fucking himself.

Akira’s cock was achingly hard. He’d managed to wait last time, but he didn’t think he could repeat the feat. Luckily, Akechi was as impatient.

He didn’t bother with a condom, and Akira barely had time to say anything about it before Akechi was sinking down on him, and then he couldn’t say anything at all for several minutes. Akechi was brilliantly hot and tight around his cock, and he couldn’t even _think_ past how good it felt.

Akechi recovered before he did, bracing his palms against Akira’s chest and lifting himself up to sink down again. His cock bounced prettily with the motion, flushed and swollen, and his skin was hot when Akira placed his hands on Akechi’s sides.

God, Akechi looked _lovely_ like this, head tipped back and bangs plastered to his skin with sweat. The missing smell of his skin wasn’t so noticeable during a heat, overtaken by every other scent that came with it—Akira didn’t know how people missed it. He didn’t know how anyone could pass up a chance to see Akechi vulnerable and wrecked.

But he was fiercely glad he was the only one.

He stroked lightly along Akechi’s sides, hungrily watching the wet part of his mouth and the line of his neck even as his hips stuttered and lost their rhythm, only then reaching between them to jerk Akechi off.

Akechi came nearly at once with a thin cry that might’ve been Akira’s name, and slumped against him. Akira hissed as he pulled out just long enough to flip them over before lining up—and then paused, taken by the sight of Akechi’s hole. Wondered if Akechi would let him try fitting his fist in there someday—but not for a while yet. He pushed in and closed his eyes, feeling cracked open by lust and some nameless emotion that went deeper than that, some desire to have every part of Akechi for as long as he could.

He nosed at the back of Akechi’s neck, kissing the top of his spine and the curve of his shoulder as he fucked Akechi as hard as he could. He’d have been afraid of breaking any other omega; Akechi could take it, though, and take it beautifully. He clenched around weakly around Akira’s cock, moaning under him.

Akira’s orgasm took him by surprise. He’d been too focused on how it felt and not nearly enough on what it was doing to him, or maybe sex just made him exceptionally stupid. Either way, he buried his face against Akechi’s neck and mouthed at the sweat-salty skin, resisting the urge to sink his teeth in and bite and _claim._

Knotted together, there was little for him to do except return to tracing Akechi’s scarred skin and revel in the way the soft touch made Akechi tense and relax by turns.

And kiss Akechi’s neck. There _was_ a scent there, he thought hazily. The aftershock was making it hard to focus, but it was unmistakable. Faint but clear, something dewy and beguiling. Akira nosed at Akechi’s skin, searching for more.

“You’re heavy,” Akechi grumbled, a couple minutes later. 

Akira hummed without paying attention, still busy kissing Akechi’s shoulder blades. He figured it out a few minutes later, though, and lifted his head. “You have a scent,” he said. “I can smell it.”

Akechi groaned. “That’s not my scent.”

“No?” Akira mumbled, confused now. “It’s there, though. I can smell it.”

“I know,” Akechi sniped. “You said.” He snuggled against Akira, probably without even realizing he was doing it. “That’s just you.”

“Me,” Akira said, inordinately thrilled. “Wait, _me?_ ”

“Who else has been fucking me?” Akechi demanded exasperatedly. “Don’t get ideas. This means _nothing._ ”

“On the contrary,” Akira grinned, leaning down to set his teeth sharply against Akechi’s neck. He didn’t bite just yet—wouldn’t for a long time, knowing how untrusting Akechi was—but he could feel the hammer of Akechi’s pulse against his teeth, and he _knew._ One day, he’d have this. 

Akechi seemed to know it too, if the way he relaxed even further was any indication. Oh, he’d grumble about it. But they both knew.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comments make my day!!

**Author's Note:**

> you can follow my [nsfw twt](https://twitter.com/misgcnder) or my [sfw twt](https://twitter.com/_intimatopia) to yell at me about what the fuck i'm doing.


End file.
